


not too basic for me, baby

by 528loves



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Identities, M/M, Misunderstandings, Title is a bad pun, multiple meet-cutes, side jenle, with a catch!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25196641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/528loves/pseuds/528loves
Summary: It’s only after the boy walks away from him for the fourth time that Jisung realizes his mistake: he keeps forgetting to ask hisname.That’s fine, though. He’ll just do it next time.(Probably.)
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Park Jisung
Comments: 23
Kudos: 156





	not too basic for me, baby

**Author's Note:**

> In which Jisung meets Renjun again, and again… and again and again and again.

The first time they meet, Jisung is about two seconds away from pouring acid all over his hand. 

Not on purpose, of course. He’s in the chemistry lab, fetching acid for his partner at the fume hood, eyes wide and hands shaking slightly with exhilaration because this is his first lab in university, like _ever_ , and although he’s desperate to not fuck things up, he’s also got enough self-awareness to admit there’s no way he’ll make it through unscathed. It doesn’t stop him from trying his best, though. After nearly a half hour of hovering excitedly around his partner—who totally hates him, by the way, and kind of crushes his last hopes of being paired up with someone nice for the next few months—she’d told him with no small amount of exasperation to go make himself useful. 

And so he did. 

By deciding to get the most dangerous chemical needed for their experiment. 

Which, honestly? Not his brightest idea, but he’d wanted to prove that he could _do_ something. When he finally manages to lift the container full of acid, he dimly notices that his hand is shaking, trembling, like a leaf in the wind. It takes all of his concentration not to spill anything. 

Somewhere along the third minute of pouring the acid at a glacial speed he realizes that he’s holding up the line, if the slow trickle of people coming and going beside him is any indication. For the briefest second, he wonders if he should be going faster, and it is precisely at this moment that his concentration breaks, his hand slips, and he almost laughs at himself for not foreseeing what happens next. 

The liquid nearly sloshes over the top of the flask—making his eyes bug out even more, because oh _god_ , what if the acid burns through his gloves and this is how he dies, by utter humiliation in a first year science lab with everyone watching; or even worse, what if he gets a zero while his partner glares daggers at him for the rest of the semester—when suddenly, someone’s hand shoots out to grasp his arm firmly, steadying him.

“Whoa, there!” 

Jisung almost leaps out of his skin. 

“You should be more careful,” is the only thing he registers before he’s gently being guided to fill up the flask again with more calm than before. He’s still frazzled, but he forces himself to take a deep breath, to stop panicking so much for no reason. At the very least, it can’t possibly get any more embarrassing than a complete stranger swooping in to help him with a very simple task. 

The second he’s got enough acid he hightails it out of there, eyes trained bashfully on the ground. He mumbles a quick _sorry_ and _thank you_ —possibly jumbled together in one word, he’s not sure—to the person waiting behind him, hearing a short _No problem_ before he’s scurrying back to his partner. 

She rewards him with a passive-aggressive comment about taking too long. Between rushed apologies, he thinks mournfully of the nice person who’d helped him out before, and tries not to sulk too much. 

  
  


✧ ✧ ✧

  
  


The second time they meet, Jisung is in a rush. 

Actually, _rush_ would be an understatement for how late he is to class. He’d slept past his alarm by a generous half hour, stumbled blindly out the door with only one sock on, and forgone breakfast for dropping by the small coffee shop near his dorm instead. Normally Chenle would cook for them in the morning, but since Jisung had woken up late—well. There aren’t even leftovers on the table. And Jisung has a day chock-full of lectures ahead of him, his schedule so packed that he can practically _feel_ the incoming headache he’ll get if he doesn’t eat for the entire day. 

So with as much politeness as he can muster up at 9 AM on a Monday, he rattles off a simple order to the barista after a brief scan of the menu, settling for the bare minimum as he shifts impatiently on his feet. 

When the food is ready, they don’t bother calling out his name since he’s the only one waiting. He thanks them quickly, grabs the coffee and muffin from the counter, and turns around— 

Only to nearly bump into the person behind him. 

It’s a close call; so close, in fact, that had the boy jumped out of his way a second too late, they’d both be wearing Jisung’s breakfast. He supposes he has to thank the boy’s reflexes for sparing them the mess, but his tired brain is still struggling to catch up with what just happened. He does, however, manage to grind out an automatic apology as he gives him a wide berth for good measure. Although he barely catches a glimpse of the boy’s face apart from a pair of startled eyes, he thinks he sees his lips parting in surprise. 

(Probably because of Jisung’s clumsiness.)

“Oh, it’s y—” 

“Sorry,” Jisung repeats, cutting him off with a distracted dip of his head. “I’m late to class, sorry!” 

He’s halfway to the door when the boy calls after him, “Hey, you dropped something.” 

Spinning around, Jisung bites back an annoyed sigh and reaches for whatever he dropped (because seriously? Who even cares about keeping receipts these days?), a toneless thank-you already forming on his lips. He’s in too much of a hurry to notice the boy’s curious look towards him, but he _does_ manage to see a flash of light pink hair before he leaves. 

It lingers momentarily on his mind, that strange hair color; though the thought disappears entirely the moment he checks his watch and sees the time.

He’s not proud of the stream of expletives spewing from his mouth. 

  
  


✧ ✧ ✧

  
  


The third time they meet, Jisung is fortunate enough to hold an actual conversation with him.

Unfortunately, it happens because of Chenle. 

Chenle’s sick as a dog back at their dorm, which is the only reason why Jisung makes the trip. He does it because he’s an awesome roommate and an even better best friend, and sure, maybe he feels a tad bit sorry seeing how much mucus Chenle is procuring from the various orifices of his body, but he’s totally _doesn’t_ just do it because he’s counting on Chenle to owe him afterwards. Definitely not. (But really, there’s only so many times he can handle being in the presence of Chenle’s boyfriend, who’s like, _way_ more handsy with Chenle in public than Jisung cares to see. He’s beginning to think he needs better alternatives than escaping to the library when Jeno comes over because he’s pretty sure the librarian will kick him out if she finds him hiding in the stacks again past closing hours.) 

The thing is, when Chenle’s sick, he _craves_ ramen. Even more than usual. Breathes it in like air, probably even _more_ than air, in fact; all because he swears it’s an effective cure that by some miracle of life unclogs his nose and actually helps him get better. Growing up with Chenle since diaperhood has trained Jisung to be ready for these types of situations, and so when Jisung turns to their cabinets this morning looking for the ingredients he’ll need to make a kickass bowl of soupy ramen, he doesn’t expect there to be….nothing. 

“What,” he says, very eloquently. 

Chenle’s thin voice comes floating out of his room. “Sorry, me an’ Jeno used everything up the last time he was here.” _Sneeze_. 

Jisung sighs and grabs his keys, reluctantly texting Jeno to come over and watch his sick boyfriend. “I’ll be back in an hour.” 

He gets two _pings_ on his phone; one a confirmation from Jeno, the other a thumbs up from Chenle. 

One of the first things Chenle had done when they’d moved in together was pinpoint all of the grocery stores downtown that sold the specific brands of food he’d need for his cooking. _It all boils down to a science_ , he’d told Jisung, which was ironic, because Chenle was a business major. On this particularly sunny day, Jisung heads to the ramen store, the vegetable store, and a candy store (for himself; he has needs that he has to fulfill), before making his way over to Chenle’s favorite spice store. 

He squints at the fading Chinese characters on the store’s window and goes inside. Since it’s his first time here, he shows the cashier the brand name that Chenle wants and lets himself be redirected to an aisle with strong-smelling spices. It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to find the right jar—it’s not like he’s fluent in Chinese, but he thinks he can do a decent job of recognizing the elegant letters and vibrant colors—and when he does, he goes over to wait in line by the register. 

The baby wailing in the background distracts Jisung briefly as he twiddles his thumbs for a few moments. Then he decides to check and double-check the jar in his hand with the picture on his phone, partly because he’s bored, partly because he doesn’t want Chenle chewing him out for getting an awful-tasting spice that they’ll be stuck with for months. He peers in real close, tries to pay attention to the squiggles and curves inked in a language he doesn’t understand, and then realizes— 

Well, that’s not fair. How was he supposed to see the fine print? 

“Is that what you’re looking for?”

Jisung honest-to-god squeaks in surprise. Once he’s somewhat recovered and sane, lingering fear on the tip of his tongue, he turns around to find: 

A boy. 

One that looks relatively harmless, standing right behind him, raising his hands sheepishly and smiling up at him. 

“Sorry,” the boy says as Jisung stares. “Didn’t mean to pry. It just looked like you might need some help, that’s all.” 

Under normal circumstances, Jisung would be offended that a random stranger is infiltrating his personal bubble. He’s not fond of people being too nosy for their own good no matter how honorable their intentions are. But this one… 

Shit. 

A blush starts to crawl up Jisung’s neck. _This_ one is cute, dammit, with bright eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses and the most adorable black beanie tugged onto his head (with a cartoon hippo sewed onto the side?), looking at Jisung with a spark of recognition that Jisung desperately wants to reciprocate even though he has no idea why someone this attractive would be paying attention to him in the first place. 

“Um,” he croaks out after managing to close his mouth. In a futile effort he scrapes together some words in his head (communication, Jisung!) and gestures feebly to his phone. “Yeah. Yes.” 

“Hey, wait, aren’t you—” The boy suddenly tilts his head, looking up at him. “From chemistry, right?” 

Jisung blinks. “Huh?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I remember now! I think you had trouble pouring acid that one time, so I had to—” 

Jisung’s ears are burning now. “Oh, fuck.” 

Because as luck would have it, the only reason why this very cute boy knows him peripherally is because he had witnessed Jisung in one of his lesser moments. He may or may not want to bang his head against the wall out of sheer humiliation for leaving _that_ kind of a first impression. 

“No, I mean, thank you,” Jisung hastens to correct himself as the boy’s smile slowly slips off his face. “Really. Also—” His phone buzzes with a curt text from Jeno asking him to hurry up and come home so Chenle can eat. He winces. “I can’t find this spice.” Ignoring how fast his heart is beating at their proximity, he shows the boy the picture of the spice jar on his phone. “I think I mixed up two different brands, but if you can read Chinese…” 

The boy lets out a pensive hum before wrapping a hand around Jisung’s arm and tugging them both out of line. Jisung lets out an inquisitive noise. 

“Oh, stop worrying. I’m not in any rush to go anywhere, but—” He gives Jisung’s phone a pointed look. “It seems that you are.”

Jisung smiles at him gratefully. “Thanks.” 

He tries not to stare too much at the boy’s soft features as he leads them down the correct aisle. But he can’t help himself. The tiny curl of hair peeking out from under the boy’s beanie is far too mesmerizing to resist, and if Jisung looks closely under the right light, he thinks he can even make out a faint pink color to it. 

It rings a distant bell of familiarity in his head, making him freeze in his tracks. He tries to place him. Where had he seen pink hair before?

The boy turns back once he notices Jisung is no longer following him. “Something wrong?”

Jisung clears his throat. “No! I just—I like your hair.” 

The boy looks surprised for a split second before his face brightens. “Oh! Thanks. It was more of an accident, really. I was going for blond, but,” he pulls off his beanie and ruffles his bangs, showing off a full head of soft rosy hair that Jisung itches to run his hands through. “It didn’t quite work out the way I wanted it to.” 

And then it finally hits him: pink hair. _Coffee shop._

Jisung resists the immediate urge to hide his face. “Well, um. I think it looks nice. It’s very, uh…” He feels himself grasping for words now, helpless. “Cotton candy?” 

The boy beams at him as he pulls on his beanie again, plucking the right spice off the shelf within minutes. Jisung swallows around the tingling in his chest and attempts a garbled _thank you_ in Chinese that he’s positive he screwed up but makes the boy laugh with delight anyways. By the time they make it back to the line, they’ve ogled a few candies on display near the register—(“I can’t _believe_ you like blueberry gum, gross,” “At least _I’m_ not addicted to that artificial watermelon flavor”)—and then their items are being scanned through rather quickly; Jisung is out the door and onto the bus before he can shake himself out of his satisfied daze. 

Later, when Chenle asks him with a tummy full of noodles and a voice laden with suspicion, why he looks so oddly happy after a visit to the grocery store, the image of the bright-eyed boy keeps popping into his mind. He hides a smile instead and tells Chenle to sleep it off. 

They probably won’t see each other again anyways. 

  
  


✧ ✧ ✧

  
  


The fourth time they meet is definitely the universe’s way of trying to prove Jisung wrong. 

It’s a little—weird, this time, because now that Jisung knows the boy is in his chemistry class, a tiny, hopeful part of him unconsciously searches for him in every lab. But three times there’s nothing, and his lab partner’s annoyance only increases every time he gets distracted during an experiment. So Jisung has no choice but to tamp down on the faint disappointment that rises when he can’t spot the familiar head of pink hair anywhere. 

(He can hardly call the boy familiar. They’re still strangers, and the only thing Jisung knows about him is that he’s too damn cute for his own good. 

And that he can’t dye his own hair.)

Which is why it’s fitting, then, that the minute he stops _looking_ for the boy is the moment the boy shows up. 

Two weeks before Halloween, he finds himself with Jeno at the movie theatre sans Chenle, who’d sent them off for some quality best friend-boyfriend bonding time so Jisung could finally look Jeno in the eye without blushing or flinching away. Jisung had given Chenle the standard _Just because he thaws around you doesn’t mean he finds me any less annoying_ look, while Jeno had simply shrugged on his leather jacket and told him, “We can go watch a movie, your pick,” before kissing Chenle breathless— _right_ in front of Jisung—and with tongue, ew—and walking out the door. 

Vaguely Jisung felt like he should be flattered that Chenle trusted both of them to be alone together, but mostly he felt a little nervous at the prospect of spending time with someone he privately dubbed The Ice Prince. It wasn’t fair to Jeno, really, since deep down he knew Jeno was nice and made Chenle happy; it just wasn’t Jisung’s fault Jeno was quiet around him and carried himself with so much dignity that Jisung fought the urge to bow down every time he walked by. 

So they meet at the theatre, per Jeno’s request, and then it’s another five minutes of awkwardly waiting around in line to get tickets. There are several attempts to make conversation on both of their ends. Out of desperation Jisung is just starting to launch himself into the very long and very boring history of the stone trolls from Frozen (which isn’t even the movie they’re watching, but bless Jeno’s heart for looking like he’s trying to pay attention) when something in the corner of his eye catches his attention.

Pink hair.

Pink hair that has gotten _bolder_ now. 

Whatever Jisung was in the middle of saying trails off as he watches the boy and his two friends head to the back of the line. It takes a distracting amount of effort to tear his gaze away from the wide smile, the exposed collarbones, and the neatly pressed shirt tucked into tight black pants; but when he does, it’s with clammy hands and a fervent prayer that the boy hasn’t noticed him yet. 

Because the boy is tiny. _Tiny_. At least next to his friends, one of whom is basically a giant. 

Why hadn’t Jisung ever realized how short he was? 

Jeno gives him an odd look as he pulls him forward to get their tickets. If Jisung drops all of his coins on the ground in his haste to forget the cutest boy standing literally _ten feet behind him_ , then that’s his own problem to deal with. 

He finally feels like he can breathe properly when he’s in line waiting to get popcorn a few minutes later, armed with a text from Jeno to buy ice cream and a bag of candy. He’s standing in front of the candy display, trying to decide if Maynards or Skittles will earn him the most brownie points with Chenle’s boyfriend, when he hears a soft huff of breath beside him. 

“Hmm…I think I’ll get the M&M’s.” 

Jisung’s head snaps towards the voice so fast he thinks he might get whiplash. 

The boy is leaning forward, deceptively casual, with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, but Jisung can see the faint upturned corner of his lips. He turns back and tries his best to contain his growing spark of excitement—because this is just too good to be true, four times in one semester (not that he’s counting; the world is smaller than he thinks)—and eventually says, “Maybe I’ll go with that too.” 

The boy grabs two bags and lets his smile blossom fully. “Then I can pay, if you want.” 

“What?” Jisung’s jaw drops open. Then, as it settles in, “Wait, no, you don’t have to—” 

“It’s fine,” the boy insists, already heading over to the cashier. “I want to.” 

Stunned, Jisung can only watch as this (super thoughtful, super nice) boy pays for him without a second thought. For a long moment, _why would he do that_ is the only question floating around in his mind, followed by _holy shit_ , and then, very very briefly, _I think I might be in love_. 

Belatedly he thinks that if he wasn’t so busy staring into space he probably would’ve protested more, but then the popcorn arrives and the boy is dangling both bags of candy from his hand rather enticingly and Jisung can’t find it in himself to hesitate any longer. 

“Thanks,” he finally says, still numb, as he catches up to him. “You’ll have to let me pay you back, though.” 

The boy waves him off. “Don’t bother. It was my treat.” He rips open his bag and pops an M&M into his mouth, giving him a hopeful little smile. “But if you want….you can make it up to me by giving me some of your yellow M&M’s?” 

Jisung nearly tears his bag in half trying to please him. “Yellow?” 

“Yeah—” _Crunch_. “They taste brighter, don’t you think?” 

Jisung stifles a snort. Because of course the cute polite boy who always helps out Jisung loves yellow. It fits him, if he thinks about it; everything about him from his sparkling eyes to his tiny cheek dimples to his thousand-watt grin radiates youthfulness despite his height. He takes a wild stab in the dark and guesses that the boy is around his age or a bit younger. “That depends, do you do this for all the strangers you meet?”

“Not really.” The boy flicks a sly glance in his direction before looking away quickly. “Only the cute ones.” 

Predictably, Jisung trips over his feet. “O-oh.” 

The boy does this little laugh-cough that makes Jisung blush even more. Either it’s his wishful thinking (read: he’s finally lost it; there’s absolutely _no_ way he’s being flirted with right now, what the fuck), or the boy’s ears are tinged an adorable shade of pink. As they head towards the theatre hall, Jisung scrambles for literally anything to say to fill the silence, frantically cursing himself for being too flustered to come up with a proper response. 

“So what movie—” 

“I should probably—” 

They stare at each other. The boy smiles again, albeit more timidly, and jerks his head toward the nearest theatre they’ve stopped at. “This one’s mine.”

“Oh, me too,” Jisung blurts out quickly, interest piqued. He’s been looking forward to this movie for a long time; has been searching for someone to share his opinions with even longer. If his instincts are correct, with the way the boy is looking at him in surprise as if he, too, can’t believe Jisung is a fan, then the thrill of excitement that zips through him is entirely warranted. 

They find their respective friends as they enter the theatre. After a quick nod of acknowledgement, Jisung sinks down into the seat beside Jeno. Jeno doesn’t ask him why he took so long, just relieves him of his popcorn-holding duties and takes the candy from him too (while frowning at the open bag, but Jisung very pointedly does not bother explaining what happened to it. Or why all the yellow M&M’s are missing.) And despite feeling painfully attuned to the boy sitting just three rows behind him, Jisung forces himself to relax as the movie begins. 

  
  
  


“I just think the dinosaurs could’ve been done better.”

“God, you’re so right, the special effects _were_ shitty—” 

“Wait, but the elf was really cute, I think—” 

“ _Yes_ , also his deer friend—oh, oh! And the troll they met along the way, too—” 

It’s almost too good to be true. 

Jisung is basically in heaven. 

He’ll begrudgingly admit that he and the boy had gravitated towards each other embarrassingly quickly after the movie ended. Which meant that he had to ignore Jeno’s scrunched-up face of confusion, pretend he wasn’t more eager to talk to a (not-so) complete stranger, and fight off the hot blush that flooded his cheeks as Jeno rolled his eyes knowingly and pulled out his phone to occupy himself. Jisung didn’t even want to know what he was saying to Chenle. Frankly he was more surprised that Jeno hadn’t fallen asleep at all the entire time. 

On the other hand, the boy beside him is making these big flailing gestures with his arms, getting progressively more animated as he goes on about how _good_ certain scenes were, how _poignant_ the music was, how _intricate_ the plot seemed to be at critical moments. (“You’re so right,” Jisung agrees. “That’s a great point,” he adds. “I think you’re smart and wonderful and meant just for me,” he doesn’t say.) Jisung bobbleheads his way through the conversation, nodding along enthusiastically to everything the boy is saying, but whenever he interjects with his own thoughts, the boy _listens_ , too; reciprocates with an eagerness that makes something warm and happy bubble in Jisung’s chest. With every step he finds himself drifting closer and closer to the boy’s magnetic aura. 

Were he not so hung up on how cute the boy was when he was all worked up like this, excited and doe-eyed and charming as ever—actually, scratch that, the boy was _always_ cute every time Jisung saw him—he would’ve noticed that all of their friends were waiting for them to finish talking. Even Jeno, usually the picture-perfect model of patience, was trudging along behind them, bored and restless and grumbling. Luckily the boy notices this before Jisung does and sends a thumbs up to his own friends where they’re hovering by the door. 

Cheeks flushed, he turns back to Jisung, and tells him with as much honesty seeping into his voice as Jisung can detect, “It’s so nice talking to someone who finally _gets_ it. You know what I mean?” 

Jisung isn’t stupid. He hears what the boy is trying to say. 

_It’s so nice talking to someone who finally gets_ me. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, grateful and slightly awed. “It is.” 

He doesn’t think they’re just talking about movies anymore. 

There’s another beat of comfortable silence, followed by someone coughing very loudly at the other end of the hall. The boy tilts his head towards his friends sheepishly, eyes still trained on Jisung. “I gotta go now, but maybe I’ll…see you around, I guess?” 

“Yes!” Jisung swallows down some of his eagerness, trying to act cool. “See you. Hopefully.” 

With an air of finality the boy waves goodbye to him and hurries to catch up with the others. Jisung watches him leave with a wistful sigh. 

“So.” Jeno chooses this moment to finally look up from his phone, smirking at him. “Who was that?” 

Warmth spreads through Jisung’s body. “A…” He pauses, unsure of what to call him. A friend? An acquaintance? A stranger that he keeps bumping into, but only in specific instances when they’re waiting in line? “...classmate.” 

“Uh huh.” Jeno’s smile grows wider. 

Jisung doesn’t like that. “Don’t tell Chenle,” he rushes to say, looking at Jeno imploringly. He’s not above begging to get what he wants. “He’ll never stop bugging me about it, so please, _please_ , don’t tell him.” 

Jeno looks even more amused. “Sure.” Which means there’s a high probability Jeno will definitely tell him, but Jisung will take what he can get. “But only if you tell me his name.” 

“Huh?”

“Your friend. What’s his name?” 

Jisung’s eyes widen. He smacks a palm to his forehead. 

He can’t believe it’s only after the boy walks away from him for the fourth time that he realizes his mistake: he keeps forgetting to ask his _name_. 

That’s fine, though. He’ll just do it next time. 

(Probably.)

  
  


✧ ✧ ✧

  
  


He doesn’t get to do it next time. 

The thick of midterm season brings a lull in how often they see each other, and Jisung finds himself cooped up studying in his room more often than not. Hours turn into days turn into weeks and slowly but surely, he skips classes, skips meals (much to Chenle’s chagrin), and skips going out to socialize with the few friends he’s made outside of class. The boy he’d gotten along with so well at the movies becomes a distant memory, a cozy dream that fades away the busier Jisung gets. For a solid few weeks, after a lovely warning phone call from his parents, he throws himself into his studies and turns into a hermit. 

Until one evening, he can’t take it anymore. 

He’s mostly burnt out right before his last exam, and with a great, dramatic, heaving sigh, he molds himself into their living room couch and shouts out, “I’m hungry.” 

The declaration itself isn’t particularly effective, since no one is listening. Chenle is snoring lightly in his room. 

Meaning that he won’t cook for Jisung. 

Jisung groans and putters around aimlessly in the kitchen for a few minutes, pretending he has enough energy to whip up something simple for himself. He doesn’t. In fact it doesn’t hit him until he’s stared at the stove for five minutes that he could just walk to the store across campus and get food. He looks at the clock. 

After another moment of hemming and hawing, his hunger wins out and he finally retrieves his keys to make his way downstairs. He might be dreadfully sleep-deprived, but he thinks he might actually die if he doesn’t eat something _right this minute_. Never mind the fact that it takes ten minutes to get to the store. When he pushes open the store’s door with a yawn, the faint twinkling sound of a bell announcing his arrival, he’s pretty sure he’s one-hundred-and-forty pounds of pure exhaustion and hunger. 

Despite the sign that says it’s open 24/7, there’s no one at the register, and the store is basically deserted. Jisung wastes too much time deciding what he wants to buy with what little money he has on him. Then he ends up looking longingly at the coffee machine in the corner of the store. (He shouldn’t. He _shouldn’t_. That would be very bad of him. It’s 3 AM, for god’s sake.) He’s still got a few things left to review before he sleeps, and the coffee is right there, tempting him with its warm aroma. Surely it wouldn’t be too bad to just…. 

The sudden twinkling sound of the door opening and closing again jolts him out of his reverie and makes him turn away abruptly, focusing on the reason he came here. _Food_. He scoops up two bags of chips and a refrigerated sandwich from the back of the store, contemplates a bottle of chocolate milk as he passes by, and tells himself it’s okay to indulge his sweet tooth, too, because he’s been working hard for the past few weeks and deserves a reward before exams end. 

It’s quiet here, which is perhaps why five minutes pass before his brain finally catches up and realizes that someone else is in there with him. Out of curiosity—because who wouldn’t be curious, seeing people out and about at this time of night—he sees steam rising from the back of the store where the coffee machine is located. It gives him an excuse to return to that delightful smell _and_ scope out the other unfortunate student awake at this hour. 

He almost laughs when he gets there. For a moment he wonders if this is just a figment of his imagination, because _what are the chances_. 

As if sensing Jisung lurking behind him, the pink-haired boy whirls around, eyes wide, before clutching at his chest in relief. “Oh, it’s just you.” 

“Just me,” Jisung echoes numbly. He squints at him, still not quite believing his eyes. He genuinely wouldn’t put it past himself to be so tired that he dreamed up this whole interaction. “What are you doing here so late?” 

The boy gestures to the coffee machine purring comfortably in the background. “Getting coffee for my roommate. I keep telling him it’s not healthy to pull all-nighters, but he never listens to me.” He raises an eyebrow at Jisung. “What are _you_ doing here so late?” 

“Um…” Jisung looks down at the food in his hands. “Pulling an all-nighter, I think.” He receives a disapproving noise in response but then he frowns, slow and confused. “Wait, you shouldn’t be up this late, either. Why not just let your roommate get his own coffee?” 

The boy blinks at him. “He basically lives off that shit. He’s had some really tough exams, so I thought I’d help him out.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“It’s just—you’re so—nice.” It slips out of Jisung before he can stop it, and even then, as the boy stares at him like he’s trying to decide if Jisung is being sarcastic or not, Jisung doesn’t elaborate. Eventually the boy gives him an odd, tentative smile and picks up the brewed coffee. 

“Thanks, I think.” 

Which of course then makes Jisung want to elaborate. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—what I _did_ mean is, you always help _me_ out like you did in chem that one time, and we don’t even know each other, but you’re so nice, because you, you bought that candy for me too—I can’t imagine why though—and your roommate is lucky to have a friend like you who sacrifices time and sleep just to make his life a little bit better, and…” 

He trails off as the boy’s eyebrows climb higher and higher up his forehead. Jisung has no idea how he suddenly summoned up so much energy to babble on like that, but it all drains out of him in a slump of his shoulders and a weary sigh. “I think maybe we should both be sleeping.” 

“Yes, especially you.” There’s amusement in the boy’s voice. 

A loud _bang_ near the front of the store makes them both flinch. Evidently the cashier finally emerged after keeping them waiting for twenty minutes, so they pay for their items at the register and then step out into the cool, fresh night. And maybe it’s the exhaustion of socializing catching up to him, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s been running on fumes for too long, but Jisung feels even more lethargic than before. He’s confident he could fall asleep as soon as his head touches his pillow. 

The boy hums and looks up at the sky. “The stars are pretty tonight,” he comments mildly. 

Jisung follows his gaze. “They are.”

When he looks back, the boy is already walking off in the opposite direction with a cheerful wave of his hand. Jisung waves back and turns to head back to his own dorm. It takes arriving home, setting the food down onto the counter, and sticking a toothbrush in his mouth for him to realize that he never _did_ get a chance to ask the boy for his name. 

And then he thinks about it some more, burrowing under his covers. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he has a feeling that this won’t be the last time they see each other. Five meetings is way too many to be sheer coincidence—everyone knows that coincidences only come in twos, duh—and although he may not believe in fate or destiny, he does believe in letting life run its course. 

Sleep comes to him easier that night than it did in weeks. 

✧ ✧ ✧

  
  


So it goes like this: they keep meeting each other (obviously), Jisung doesn’t ask for his name (obviously), the boy doesn’t ask for _Jisung’s_ name (obviously), and life goes on like normal. Obviously. 

Also, right around when the trees start shivering off their last leaves to welcome winter, Jisung stops keeping track of their encounters.

(Interestingly, he acquires a new friend at this time, too: a boy with pastel blue hair that he meets in his computer science class near the end of the semester. The boy’s name is Jaemin. He’s a little quiet and a lot eccentric, has a gravelly voice that doesn’t at all match the cutesy rabbit stickers on his laptop, and always scrutinizes Jisung a bit too closely whenever they sit beside each other. The most important thing Jisung learns about him in the three weeks they’re forced to work together is that Jaemin would absolutely marry coffee, if given the chance. Like, no joke. When they’d met at a cafe one early weekend morning, Jaemin had been truly, utterly, dead-to-the-world zombified until he’d crawled to the counter to get coffee while Jisung pretended not to know him. It was, for lack of a better word, impressive.) 

But when it comes to the pink-haired boy—no, Jisung sees him too often for him to remember every single place they meet. Sometimes he’ll round the corner and catch a flash of pink hair; sometimes he’ll round the corner and catch himself _hallucinating_ a flash of pink hair—and he really has no excuse for being this sleep-deprived anymore, it’s just a bad habit now—and one memorable time he was at the grocery store and two minutes later found himself helping the boy reach for something on the top shelf. (The boy just glared at him playfully before standing on his tippy-toes as if trying to prove he could be tall, too; Jisung had to hide his white-knuckled grip on the shopping basket with a helpless giggle and try his damned hardest not to call him cute.) 

Other times he’ll be in line, waiting to get food in the cafeteria or check out a book from the library; and the boy will be right there, smiling at him as they exchange a few words. 

“Did you see that movie that came out recently,” Jisung will sometimes ask. 

“Yes! I loved the dragons in that one,” the boy will respond brightly. Or, with a scrunch of his nose, “No, haven’t had time, really. Did you?” 

And sometimes Jisung will say, “Not yet,” and then start a mini war with himself as he debates asking the boy to go see it with him. Usually, by that time, the boy has already left, and Jisung will let out a sigh of pity. 

On weekdays when they find themselves at the same coffee shop (Jisung’s coffee bill has skyrocketed exponentially because of how often he’s going there now, it’s embarrassing), the boy will occasionally buy him something to motivate him for the rest of the day. 

“Being a freshman’s exhausting,” he’ll tell Jisung almost affectionately as he shoves a cookie into his hands and ignores his protests. “It’s even worse with all the morning classes, trust me.” 

“You don’t have to—” 

“I _want_ to.” 

“You’re so—” 

“Just take it, will you?” 

“M’kay rhank yuo,” Jisung will immediately say around a mouthful of pastry. Because no matter how much he pretends to complain, he secretly loves being treated with food. And they both know it, too, if the boy’s eye roll is any indication. 

(It also takes Jisung a very long time to realize that the boy is older than him and was only speaking from experience. He begins to wonder if he should call him hyung.)

But they don’t always have time to stick around and talk. When they’re both in a rush, they’ll just greet each other with a simple nod and a wave. These are the days that Jisung loves the most, because he gets to see the boy in his own element. If he has to leave the coffee shop early to catch a class, he’ll make sure to turn back for a brief moment and watch the boy settle in by the sunlit window and open his laptop, putting on his headphones and sipping on his drink peacefully. If they pass each other in the hall, he’ll wait for the boy’s face to light up in recognition before he waves to Jisung happily. And if he’s in a bad mood, seeing the boy’s friendly grin will make his heart do a funky tap dance in his chest, and he’ll smile back, already feeling better. 

The best part of it all, though, is the little game they’ve got going on. (At least, Jisung is choosing to think of it as a game. He doesn’t want to dwell too much on the alternatives.) There’s an unspoken rule not to disturb the delicate balance between them, the little bubble of anonymity they’ve established over the past few months. Which is why, at almost four weeks from the end of the semester, they still don’t know each other’s names—neither of them ask, and neither of them tell. It’s something they sweep under the rug every time they see each other, mostly because time flies when they’re together and the thought doesn’t even cross Jisung’s mind; he’s too busy soaking up the boy’s presence or trying to make him laugh to worry about anything else. The boy is like an oasis in the desert of mediocrity that is Jisung’s everyday life, and Jisung relishes the thrill of having a mysterious almost-friend who gets along with him absurdly well and even _dotes_ on him. (He’s delighted to say that they’ve upgraded to cheek pinches now. _Cheek_ _pinches!_ Delivered straight from the boy to Jisung.) 

Basically, it goes like this: the boy is everywhere now that Jisung knows to look for him. 

They enjoy each other’s company.

Everything is going great. 

Everything is perfect, actually, until it isn’t. And, like most sizable upheavals in Jisung’s life, it all starts with Chenle. 

  
  


✧ ✧ ✧

  
  


“So,” Chenle says one evening while they’re tucking into the delicious stew he cooked for them. He sounds casual in a way that’s almost never a good sign. “I'm going to do you a favor.” 

The declaration makes Jisung wary, because he can’t remember the last time Chenle willingly offered to do him something nice. (To be fair, he couldn’t even remember when _he_ last offered to do something for Chenle.) For half a second he wonders if it has anything to do with the fact that Chenle was humming cheerfully to himself the entire time he was making dinner, and he narrows his eyes suspiciously and slows his chewing. “What is it?”

Chenle puts his chopsticks down, wipes his mouth, and looks him right in the eye as he announces, “I’m setting you up with someone.” 

Jisung chokes on his piece of chicken. 

“W- _what_ ?” he wheezes after Chenle’s done laughing at him and he can finally swallow properly. “Did you just say you’re _setting_ me _up_ with someone?” 

“Yep.”

“Wha—but—th-that’s so—you can’t just—”

Chenle holds up a hand. “Hear me out.” 

Jisung glares at him, gulping down some water and then proceeding to choke on it as well because he was drinking too fast. “Was I ever going to get a say in this?” he sputters indignantly when he recovers.

“Jisung,” Chenle begins patiently. “You’ll really like him, trust me.” 

Still in semi-disbelief, Jisung starts shaking his head. “No, hang on—” 

“He’s in my Chinese history class—” 

“Wait—” 

“And he’s a music major—” 

“ _Wait_ , I don’t—” 

“And!” Chenle continues in a loud voice, speaking over him. “He composed that gorgeous piece I showed you last month, the one with the violin and piano arrangements!” He grins and points his chopsticks at him like he’s already won the argument. 

“I—” Jisung stops. Thinks a little. Cocks his head. “Wait, he did that?” 

Nodding vigorously, Chenle waits for his response. 

It should be noted that Jisung’s initial reaction to all of this is to immediately dislike this person; this complete stranger that Chenle set him up with so that they could fall in love Disney-style and elope somewhere before graduating. But. _But_. There’s a big _but_ here that Jisung can’t ignore: he remembers that piece. 

It was emotional, it was beautiful, it was a thousand different words Jisung’s brain couldn’t verbalize, but in short, he thought it was just another classical piece made by another famous classical artist. So naturally, he was surprised when Chenle proudly told him that his _friend_ composed it. Like any other person, Jisung thought it was normal to be impressed that his friend knew a musical genius, but apparently he was wrong—Chenle had obviously taken that to mean he was interested in the dude as well. 

Which he wasn’t.

Because of a certain pink-haired boy that had been occupying his mind for months. 

(Seriously, it was becoming a problem.) 

So Jisung just clears his throat and says, “I’m not really looking for a boyfriend right now.” _Lie_. “Especially with someone I don’t know.” _Another lie._ “Besides, what brought this on in the first place?” 

Chenle scoffs. “Jisung, I’ve seen the way you look at me and Jeno.” 

“The way I—?” 

“ _Yes_ , dummy, you get this distant look in your eyes like you wish you could have the same thing.” And great, now there’s pity on Chenle’s face. “I’m just trying to help you.” 

“That’s not it,” Jisung complains. “I look at you guys like that because I’m tired of seeing you make out in our kitchen!” 

“Well, you never said anything, how was I supposed to know?”

“Oh my god.” Jisung buries his face in his hands. “Can’t you just tell your friend I’m not interested? It’s nothing personal.” 

“Um. It’s a bit too late for that.”

“What? Why?” 

Chenle throws up his hands. “Because I already told him you’d be going to his New Year’s party!” 

Jisung gawks. “Chenle, I thought we had plans for New Year’s Eve!” 

“Those _are_ our plans, fool,” Chenle says, frowning at him like he hadn’t expected Jisung to raise this much of a fuss. (Jisung, on the other hand, thought he was perfectly valid griping and groaning however much he wanted to. It was the least he deserved for being sprung upon like this.) “I told him we’d both be going, and that he should meet you because I think he’d like you a lot. And then he said he was looking forward to it!” 

“But I don’t wanna—” Jisung whines, before catching himself. He lets out a big sigh and ultimately accepts his miserable fate. “Unnrghgh, _why_ …” 

“Because it’d be rude not to.” Chenle smiles at him. “C’mon, he’s nice! And smart and funny. And _single_. Also, he might need a date for an upcoming music event next year and I might’ve volunteered you, so you guys actually need to meet each other beforehand. But!” he continues when Jisung’s eyes go wide. “You’ll really like him, I promise.” 

Jisung makes a face and slumps forward onto the table. He supposes he’s got no other choice than to see this through, because it’s New Year’s Eve and he can’t come up with a reasonable excuse not to go. Plus Chenle will keep nagging him until he gives in, especially if he disagrees now. His best friend definitely owes him for this one. 

Jisung sends a small prayer of forgiveness to his cute pink-haired boy and hopes he’ll wait for him just a little longer, until this all blows over. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, steadfastly ignoring Chenle’s fist pump. He resolves to do his best and tolerate the night as much as he can without being too rude. “What’s this guy’s name?”

“Huang Renjun.” 

  
  


✧ ✧ ✧

  
  


The last time Jisung sees the boy is a few weeks before finals begin. He finds him at the campus library on a chilly Thursday afternoon. 

“Hi,” Jisung says breathlessly as he sits down, dropping his bags onto the table and taking off his coat. They’ve claimed their own little spot now, three floors up from the main hall in a cozy nook far away from the elevators. It’s the second time they’ve met here—after the first time Jisung had come across him by chance, he’d gone back on his free afternoons to hopefully find him again, but the boy hadn’t been there. Today, though, he’s glad to have someone to talk to. “How’ve you been?” 

The boy blinks up at him, tired. “Hi. Busy with assignments.” He yawns, then rests his head on his hands and smiles at Jisung. “You?” 

“Me too.” Jisung is mostly distracted, still not pleased about the whole….impromptu date thing, which hasn’t left his mind since Chenle forced him into it. He tries to clear his mind now for the boy’s sake. “Stressed. Annoyed. Nothing new.” 

“I think we all are,” the boy laughs. Jisung doesn’t have the energy to respond to that, which makes the boy look closer at him in concern. “Hey, it’ll be alright, you know? Finals aren’t that tough in your first year.” 

“Huh?” 

“I mean, I’m not a science major, but I don’t think they’d make the exams _too_ hard. It wouldn’t make sense that way.” 

Jisung blinks, and then realizes what the boy is saying. “Oh. You’re right. But that’s not what I—” He clasps his hands together tightly under the table. “That’s not what I was talking about, I guess.” 

“Oh?” The boy raises his eyebrows. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

Jisung hesitates. He’s not sure he wants to reveal too much about his New Year’s date, even though he knows the boy has probably been seeing other people this entire time (because he’s good-looking, and good-looking people are _always_ taken). Which is fine! Which is normal, because Jisung’s been too much of a coward to make the first move, and that’s his own fault. Still, he can’t help the loyalty and fondness he feels for this not-quite stranger. _His friend_. 

He takes one look at the boy’s open, inviting face and caves. “It’s stupid. It’s—” He sighs. The boy shifts closer and lays a comforting hand on his shoulder, making him blush. “Uh, uh, it’s—” 

“What?”

Jisung pouts. “My friend is setting me up with some guy I’ve never met, claiming we’ll get along great together. But I can’t help but feel like it’ll be awkward, you know? I’m not cut out for this whole….” He waves a hand vaguely. “Blind date stuff. I’m not!” 

The boy’s hand drops away. 

“Oh.”

And that, in itself, is enough to open up the pit of anxiety in Jisung’s stomach. 

“Not that—not that I _want_ to go,” he adds hurriedly, trying to make up for the damage he’d done. He knew he shouldn’t have mentioned it like this. He hadn’t even planned to, but the boy was just there, listening to him, and Jisung was already so frustrated he couldn’t help it. “Really, if I had the choice….” 

He trails off lamely, unsure of how to continue without sounding desperate. 

The boy smiles at him. It’s probably just Jisung’s imagination, but it feels a tad bit forced. “It sounds like a good opportunity, though. I’ve gone on blind dates before and not all of them are bad.” He contemplates for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Actually, now that you mention it….I think I’m going on one soon. I had it set up so long ago I almost forgot about it.” He grins at Jisung now, bumping shoulders with him. “Who knows, maybe we’ll both come out of it with boyfriends.” 

“Y-yeah.” Jisung gives a weak laugh, heart sinking in his chest, because this wasn’t the information he was expecting. “Hopefully…” 

“Listen, don’t stress about it too much. Focus on finals first.” He stands up, stretches, and ruffles Jisung’s hair. “You’ll ace those.” 

The absolute faith this boy has in him is _not_ helping him put his crush on hold. None of this is going the way he wants it to, but then it hits him: he could just ask for the boy’s name and number now so they can meet up over Christmas break later. As friends. Only friends, since they both have dates set up, apparently. It gives him the tiniest bit of hope. 

So he clears his throat. “Hey, so I was wondering.” God, he’s nervous. He’s _so_ nervous, he doesn’t want to be rejected even though he’s pretty sure he won’t be, but the boy is waiting expectantly, and it’s now or never. “What’s your n—” 

The boy’s phone vibrates loudly with a notification, making them both jump. Jisung watches with no small amount of agitation as the boy swears and swings his bag over his shoulder.

“Shit, _shit_. I’m going to be late. Sorry to interrupt, but can we continue this another day?” 

The boy is already backing away from him in an odd little trot-hop that Jisung finds immeasurably cute. “Yeah, no problem!” He tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He’s not entirely sure there’ll be another day at this rate, not with finals approaching. “It can wait.” 

“Good luck on your exams!” the boy calls as he basically sprints away. “And your date!” 

“You too,” Jisung says halfheartedly. The boy can’t hear him anyways. He was so close to finding out his name, dammit. 

He sighs and takes out his books to study. He’s playing the long game now.

  
  


✧ ✧ ✧

  
  


Finals pass in a blur, and, true to Jisung’s prediction, he doesn’t see the boy at all anymore. Much like midterm season, he spends most of his time holed up in his room and doesn’t worry too much about the boy, who he assumes is busy with exams and assignments as well. So he waits, and studies, and waits, and then studies some more, and then finally, _finally_ , Christmas break arrives, along with the first hint of snow. 

The days leading up to Christmas are a quiet affair; he passes the time gaming and talking to friends and warming up to Jeno again. (Chenle is delighted.) Christmas comes and goes with festive celebrations at their dorm—some loud drunk kid keeps playing _Deck the Halls_ right outside their apartment until it makes all of them want to rip their ears off—but other than that, a quick video call to his parents every day is all he needs to stay cheerful. The gifts he receives are also simple (some mittens, a new binder, and a ridiculous phone case that looks strangely expensive) and Jisung is happy and full when he goes to sleep on Christmas day. 

And then he wakes up the morning after, panicking about New Year’s Eve, which he had mostly pushed to the back of his mind until now. 

Chenle just rolls his eyes and tells him to go back to sleep, so he does, and then, for the next four days, spends a tragic amount of time obsessing about this Renjun dude and their date. Chenle just watches him in amusement. The only thing he comments on, with an air of nonchalance, is how odd it is for Jisung to care so much about making a good first impression for “some guy he’s never met before.” Jisung just rummages through Chenle’s closet in retaliation and finds nothing. 

Eventually, though, the evening of the party arrives, and he and Chenle show up at Renjun’s door fashionably late, dressed casual and slightly too warm. The Christmas lights are still up, Jisung notices, which he thinks is a good sign. They ring the doorbell and a girl answers the door rather drunkenly. 

“Welcome to our— _hic_ —humble abode,” she says, slurring a bit but opening the door wider. The music is louder now, some electric-punk-hip-hop version of classic Christmas songs that a few people are headbanging to in the background. “Come in. Shoes off. Or on. I don’t care. But leave the door unlocked.” 

Jisung just looks at Chenle, who shrugs. “Renjun has two roommates,” is all Chenle offers before they step inside. “And some pretty loud friends.” 

Jisung won’t end up remembering most of what happens for the first hour of the party, not because he’s drunk, but because he’s jittery and on edge. There aren’t even that many people there—it’s more of a get-together, really; calling it a party is a bit of a stretch—but faces pass by him and names float in through one ear and out the other. He tries to be polite; he meets several interesting people and hears quite a few stories, but none of them stick. 

Also, Chenle accidentally abandons him halfway through the night. It turns out to be fine, though, because at some point, Jisung blinks once and suddenly comes face to face with a recognizable head of bright blue hair.

“Jaemin-hyung?” 

“Wha?” Jaemin turns around slowly from where he’s leaning against the couch. He puts down his glass of wine on the coffee table and smiles at him widely. “Oho! Jisung!” 

He goes in for a too-tight hug that Jisung tries to return slightly less enthusiastically. Jaemin was never this affectionate when they were at school, so he’s probably drunk, but honestly Jisung hadn’t in a million years expected to see him _here_. “You okay, hyung?”

“Never better.” Glassy-eyed, Jaemin pokes his cheek. “How are you? And your exams?”

“Good, they went well.” Jisung peers at him closer. “How about you? Are you sure you’re—?” 

Jaemin waves him off. “I’m fine. Peachy. Let loose, baby, it’s the end of the year!”

And with that cryptic message, he thrusts his arms into the air excitedly and backs away, having already forgotten his wine on the table. Jisung just shakes his head and goes to the kitchen to place it in the sink for him. It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed—Jaemin was always a weird guy.

Jisung opens the fridge to see if there’s anything else to eat. The sad carrots and near-empty bowl of chips in the living room aren’t really doing it for him, and he’s hoping for some juice, too, because all of the talking tonight has made his throat parched. Surprisingly, he’s almost enjoying himself at this party, despite the fact that he hasn’t met Renjun yet. There’s at least another hour to go until midnight, so he’s hoping Chenle will come back to his senses and have the decency to introduce them to each other before then. 

He’s in the middle of rummaging around in the bottom drawer and recoiling at the sight of moldy bread when he meets the second most interesting person of the night. 

And this time, he remembers every single detail. 

“Oh! Oh, hey!” a familiar voice exclaims behind him, tapping his shoulder and sounding thrilled. “Hey, you!” 

Jisung spins around, ears perking up with hope, and— 

And _stares_.

It’s the boy. 

It’s the boy, but he has—he has _black_ hair now, and he looks _good_. He looks so fucking good, even _better_ than when he had pink hair, except now he’s only a few inches away from Jisung and flushed and happy and grinning up at him like he’s the only person in the world worth his attention. 

Jisung is so shocked by this new development and the warm feeling rushing through his body that all he can do is gawk dumbly. 

“I hope you’ve been having fun,” the boy says cheerfully, apparently not noticing Jisung’s mental breakdown. “And had a great holiday so far. _Wow_ , I can’t believe you’re here! Small world, huh?” 

“Uh huh,” Jisung manages. Then he shakes himself out of his stupor and smiles, genuinely happy to see him. “I mean, yes, small world. Speaking of holidays, Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas!” The boy reaches into the fridge for a carton of eggnog Jisung hadn’t noticed before and fills up two cups, offering one to him. “Sorry about my roommate, by the way,” he continues, snorting a bit. “He’s…crazy, sometimes, when he’s not busy being stressed.” 

Jisung tries the eggnog. It tastes good. “Your roommate?” he says absentmindedly, watching as the boy closes the fridge with his hip and takes a sip of his own eggnog. The little milk mustache it leaves behind on his upper lip makes Jisung giggle. 

“Yeah.” The boy scrubs at his mouth when Jisung points to it. “You know, the guy with blue hair?” 

Jisung pauses. “Wait, that—” He whirls around to where Jaemin had just left. “ _Jaemin’s_ your roommate?” His jaw drops open. “The one who’s addicted to coffee?” 

The boy blinks. “Uh…yeah.” He scratches his head. “I’m surprised you remembered, actually.” 

Jisung is shaking his head in disbelief. “No, we worked on a project together for a class. I knew he loved coffee, but I didn’t know he was the _ask-your-friend-to-run-to-the-store-at-4-am-for-coffee_ type of guy.” Which, in hindsight, felt like a big clue Jisung definitely shouldn’t have missed, given how the relationship between Jaemin and coffee eerily resembled Gollum and his ring. 

The boy shrugs, unbothered. “I don’t mind it so much. Frankly I’m more surprised that he knew you and didn’t even say anything.” He pokes Jisung in the shoulder. “Next thing I know, Hyuck will be saying you two are best friends!” 

“Hyuck?”

“Donghyuck, my other roommate.” The boy frowns. “He’s fun, you’d love him, but—he’s off at his boyfriend’s tonight. Which is dumb, because we all live here, so I thought it’d be more logical to just, I don’t know, stay here and celebrate. The least they could’ve done was stick around, jeez….” 

_We all live here_. 

The words ring in Jisung’s ears. He stares at the boy in front of him (who’s still complaining about Hyuck, but looking very cute while doing so), and feels like he’s missing something. 

Hyuck is his roommate. 

But Jaemin is also his roommate. 

And if three people normally live in this house…two of whom are already accounted for…then the last one must be… 

Jisung tentatively opens his mouth, wanting—no, _needing_ —to make sure. “Wait, are you—” 

Which, of course, is the precise moment Chenle apparates out of thin air. 

“Oh, good, you’ve already found each other!” He loops his arms around their shoulders and squeezes them closer together. “Renjun, this is my roommate Jisung; Jisung, this is Renjun, the classmate I was telling you about.” 

There’s a long, painful moment of stunned silence. 

And then some more, as the pieces start clicking into place.

Eventually the boy reacts first. “What.” 

Chenle, who had been looking back and forth between the two of them rather hopefully, starts to pout. “C’mon, you guys gotta give me something to work with here. I really thought you two would like each other! That was the whole point of the blind date, remember?” 

“ _What_.” 

“Wait,” Jisung says, quickly running through their last encounter in his head. _They both had a blind date._ He turns wide eyes onto the boy he’s come to know over the past few months through odd meetings and fragments of conversations. “So _you’re_ …?” 

“And _you’re_ …” The boy says, eyes equally wide, before breaking out into a delighted smile. “No way. No _way_!” 

“Um?” Chenle says. 

The boy is laughing now, the shoulder-shaking and stomach-clutching kind of laugh that makes Jisung almost want to join in. He’s still, unfortunately, mostly speechless, so the boy— _Renjun_ , Jisung reminds himself with a happy shiver up his spine; he’s finally got a _name_ to put to his face after so long—takes over for him. 

“We know each other, me and Jisung. Well, sort of. I mean—” He breaks off and says a few rapid words in Chinese to Chenle, whose face goes funny with confusion. 

“Hang on, so you two—” 

“Yup.”

“And you both just—?”

“Uh huh.” Renjun is grinning like he’s won the lottery. 

Chenle gapes at them. “You’re both idiots.” 

“Yeah,” Jisung agrees, starting to giggle at the absurdity of it all. “We are.” 

“And not once did you guys bother asking each other’s names?” 

Renjun shrugs. “It never came up.” And then he _winks_ at Jisung, like they’re sharing an inside joke. Jisung can feel his cheeks warm up against his own will. 

“It never came up.” Chenle sounds incredulous now.

“Nope.” 

“Okay,” Chenle says, detaching himself from them with a vague look of disgust. “I’m going to go now. Let you guys catch up, except wait, you’re _already_ caught up. Because you’ve known each other this whole time and didn’t even think to tell me. This is so fucking—” 

“Thanks! We owe you one!” Renjun calls after him, grabbing Jisung’s hand—(his hand!)—and weaving his way through the crowd as Jisung tries not to faint from how hard he’s blushing. “Now, _we_ ,” Renjun addresses him, intertwining their fingers once they’re far away from Chenle’s prying eyes, “are going to go somewhere quiet and talk.” 

“W-works for me,” Jisung says weakly. Because holy shit, he’s holding hands with Renjun. Who he’s been slowly crushing on for _months_. Who looks absolutely gleeful and exhilarated and _happy_ as he leads them upstairs to someone’s room and closes the door behind them with a giddy spring in his step. 

Jisung would be lying if he said his heart didn’t skip a beat at the implication. 

But all Renjun does is cross the room and fling open the windows dramatically like he’s in some sort of Disney movie. The fresh air helps to clear Jisung’s head a little, so he takes the opportunity to properly look at their surroundings. It’s a nice room, bed neatly made and shelves filled with books, white hippo lamp casting a mellow glow over a clearly well-cherished display of—white hippo plushies. A messy desk is the only unorganized thing in the room, save for maybe a small pile of shoes collecting dust by the doorway. Jisung is just about to comment on the nice view outside the window when suddenly his eyes land on the piano keyboard set up in the far corner. 

Meaning that this must be— 

“Your room?” Jisung asks, surprised.

Renjun nods. “Yep.” 

“What’s with the—”

“Not a hippo,” Renjun warns, getting comfortable on his bed. “Don’t you dare call Moomin a hippo, he’s an elf.”

Jisung grins at him and hops over to where Renjun is patting the seat beside him. “Got it. Elf hippo.”

Renjun shoots him a playful glare. “Dare I say you’re making a _terrible_ first impression, Jisung.”

“I think we’re well past that point, _Renjun_.” Saying Renjun’s name makes Jisung irrationally happy; he thinks he could live off of repeating his name forever. An endless supply of quiet delight. “But for what it’s worth….I think it worked out well in the end. We’re both here, aren’t we?” 

“I guess so. Fate’s funny like that,” Renjun says thoughtfully. “But enough of that, I want to know more about you. You are, after all, my date to the big music symposium next semester.” He smirks when Jisung’s eyes bug out in alarm. “It’ll be chill, relax. Just sit tight and look pretty. Shouldn’t be a problem for you.” He tugs Jisung’s ear for emphasis, and Jisung already knows he’s going to be a mess by the end of this. 

“God, you’re so.” He buries his burning face into his hands and ignores Renjun’s laugh. “What do you want to know about me?” he asks instead, flopping back down onto the bed. Renjun mimics him. 

“As much as you’re willing to tell me.” 

Which turns out to be a _lot_. 

They talk. They talk even more than they usually do. They talk and Jisung finally finds out that the only reason why Renjun was in his chemistry class at the beginning of the semester was because he’d foolishly thought taking a first year science course as an elective would be easy. (Jisung snorts at this and tells Renjun he should’ve dropped the course before he even started.) They talk and Jisung tells him how glad he is that they kept meeting so many times, to which Renjun smiles and agrees in a gentle voice. They talk and share funny anecdotes with each other, laugh at Jisung’s dumb jokes, and complain about how the government is hiding the existence of aliens. (“It’s too suspicious, Jisung. There were literally UFOs on the news the other day. _UFOs_.”) They talk and fill the time with happiness and lingering touches and long-awaited friendship. 

It’s easy, being with him; Jisung hasn’t felt this comfortable around someone since Chenle. Renjun became part of his life when he hadn’t even realized it, but knowing what Renjun is _really_ like, unbounded by the constraints of their daily lives, makes Jisung fall a little bit more in love with him each time he opens his mouth. Renjun is witty and funny and all of the things Chenle told him he would be—Jisung never should’ve doubted his best friend in the first place—but he’s also wise and calm and caring; and at the end of the day, all Jisung knows is that he wants to be by Renjun’s side for a long time. 

At some point, there’s a lull in their conversation that leaves them both watching each other quietly, drinking in each other’s presence. Jisung feels his breath hitch as Renjun reaches out and smoothly brushes a hair from his cheek. He doesn’t know when he got so good at reading Renjun’s face, but as Renjun’s smile softens out into something unbearably fond, Jisung knows, in his heart of hearts, that the affection he’s grown to feel for this boy has been reciprocated the entire time.

He takes a deep breath to say something— 

“Alright, everyone!” someone yells (through a _megaphone?_ ) from downstairs. The music stops, and Jisung pauses for a moment, turning towards the door. A chorus of cheers makes Renjun get up and poke his head outside in curiosity. “We’ll be starting the countdown to New Year’s in two minutes, so get ready!”

More cheering greets the announcement. Renjun opens the door fully. “You want to go downstairs for a bit?” 

“Sure,” Jisung agrees, taking Renjun’s outstretched hand. He thinks he’ll never get over that, having the easy privilege of sinking into Renjun’s warmth whenever he’s around. 

Chenle gives them a thumbs up when they pass the living room. They grin at his smug little face, because of course he would want to take credit for all of this. It’s as close as he’ll get to the truth, anyways; Jisung doesn’t know if they’d ever have gotten past the first step of simple introductions had Chenle not forced them together. He supposes he really does have his best friend to thank for that (and he knows Chenle will be pressing him for details and a token of gratitude later on). 

Renjun brings him to a quieter part of the house, near the back where there are fewer people around. Excited chatter fills the air as the clock ticks closer to midnight, and Renjun wiggles his eyebrows at him as the person with the megaphone distantly yells, “Are you ready?” and everyone in the house starts cheering again. The countdown begins. 

“Ten!”

“Nine!”

Renjun watches him with bright eyes. “Happy New Year.” 

“Seven!”

“Six!”

It gives Jisung a stupid idea. He takes a deep breath and holds out his hand. “Happy New Year. It’s nice to meet you, Renjun.”

There’s a flash of surprise on Renjun’s face before he gets it. And then he shakes his hand, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you too, Jisung.” 

_One._

And so begins a new year. 

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by my own "getting along well with a stranger while waiting in line but not knowing their name after parting ways" and "not bothering to find out someone’s name until like 2 hours into the conversation" and "continuing to see the same people all over campus" experiences


End file.
